


The Infamous Gentleman

by T-Rex (tmishkin)



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Beta What Beta?, Britain's Most Honorable Man, F/M, Imprisonment, Is That Flirty!Laurence?!, Is That a Knife in Your Pocket?, Laurence's Also Excellent Imagination, League of Dragons, M/M, Pining, Solitude, Spying, Tharkay's Day in Court, Tharkay's Excellent Imagination, ice crevasse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-12-13 16:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmishkin/pseuds/T-Rex
Summary: Captured by the French while trying to rescue Temeraire and Iskierka's egg, Tharkay is separated from Laurence and Granby. Laurence surprises Tharkay on multiple occasions, but not nearly enough. League of Dragons from Tharkay's point of view until he drops out of the story for 175 pages (!), then a flurry of alternating point of view chapters until we rejoin the last page of the novel with a happy ending already in progress.





	1. Jailhouse Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured by the French while trying to rescue Temeraire and Iskierka's egg, Tharkay is separated from Laurence and Granby.

They were, of course, separated immediately after their capture. Laurence and Granby, Tharkay saw, were known to their captors, while he was himself—at least for the moment—unknown. His hands tied behind him, Tharkay was escorted to one of the French middleweights. It was an hour past dawn.

Tharkay hunched into his coat. The French Alps felt no warmer than those to the northeast where he and Laurence had huddled in an ice crevasse for a week, staying alive by sharing Temeraire’s body heat and their own, waiting for the Alpine ferals to bring word of the French dragons who had stolen Iskierka and Temeraire’s egg. Once they met up with Granby and Iskierka, the Kazilik’s flame had made the journey marginally less miserable, but truly Tharkay could scarcely remember what warm felt like.

The French aviators were talking excitedly now. Tharkay turned his head slightly. The Frenchmen were passing a piece of paper among themselves and looking at him. Tharkay suppressed a shiver. Surely they had not already learned of his recent activities?

The middleweight began to descend toward the outskirts of a small city. Tharkay thought from the direction they had flown that it must be Grenoble. They landed in a field between the city and the mountains.

Tharkay was hustled roughly off the dragon’s back and blindfolded, then jerked forward by his arm. He did not resist. The French aviators passed him quickly to some other men, guards by the sound of them. After perhaps three minutes, he felt cobblestones under his feet. A turn to the left put the sun on his face. East, then. 

His attempts to orient himself were abruptly ended by a descent down slick stone steps. Tharkay, unable to see or catch his balance, would have fallen at least once but for the tight grip on his arm. The steps ended; they walked a dozen paces and then he was shoved forward. Tharkay rolled through the fall on his left shoulder and rose to a crouch in the straw covering the stone floor. A metal door slammed shut. He heard one of the guards mutter “C’est l’espion,” then silence.

The cell was damp and cold. Tharkay worked his muscles, trying to drop his shoulders enough to pass his arse backwards through his bound hands. But he was stiff and his hands, which had taken the brunt of his torture in China, ached. Tharkay went to work on the blindfold. Between his shoulders and teeth, he was able to pull the cloth down quickly, not that it made much of a difference. 

He found himself more or less where he expected: in a stone cell roughly ten feet by ten, with no windows. A torch guttered in the hall. There were a few other cells, but from what he could tell they were empty. Of course, Laurence and Granby had been in uniform when they were captured, so they were unlikely to be treated as spies. And having brought the cure for the dragon plague to France, Laurence was a particular favorite of Napoleon’s, however much this displeased Tharkay’s relentlessly honorable friend. He rather thought Laurence would prefer to be thrown in a cell than receive special treatment from the enemy.

Tharkay sat down awkwardly in the straw, then curled on his side. The straw was fairly thick and clean, as prison cells went. There was little he could do but try to sleep, and in the straw, it was just warm enough to do so. Tharkay dreamed that he and Laurence were back in the mountains, huddled with Temeraire in the ice crevasse that had sheltered them for several days until the feral Alpine dragons came to tell them that a heavyweight was approaching. 

In his dream, Tharkay was warm under the furs and oilskins with Laurence. Laurence was kissing his cheek gently. Tharkay tried to snuggle closer, but he couldn’t move his arms. He jerked awake, realized that a rat had just run over his face. 

The fading dream mocked him. When would he discipline himself enough to put these thoughts aside once and for all? He had spent a week huddled close with Laurence, true enough, but Laurence was recovering from a bullet wound and using all his energy to keep Temeraire from abandoning the crevasse and searching the mountains for the dragons who had stolen his egg. Even if Britain’s most honorable man had nothing at all to preoccupy him and a month to stay alive in a nest of furs amidst the Alpine snows, Tharkay doubted that Laurence would ever think of kissing him. His mind simply did not work that way.

After several hours, the guards returned. They were professionals: one, armed, remained outside the cell while two others entered, one with a bowl of gruel and a pitcher of water. The other untied Tharkay’s hands and took the blindfold that he had pushed down below his chin. “Bon appétit, M. Tharkay,” he said cheerfully, “Nous vous allons voler à Paris le matin. M. Fouché sera enchanté de vous rencontrer.”

Fouché. Napoleon’s spymaster. Somehow he had learned of Tharkay, had ordered his arrest and circulated a sketch. After his recent successful mission to Istanbul, Tharkay was surprised only by the rapidity with which he had been identified and a price put on his head. Someone who knew his face must have found a buyer for it.

During the long night, he dreamed again. General Fela’s men were dragging him from the caves near Xian to a guillotine. Laurence was there, dressed as an executioner. As Tharkay mounted the steps, Laurence frowned at him. Tharkay opened his mouth to protest and the blade came down.

In the morning, the guards came to take him away. This time, however, there was no blindfold, no binding of his hands or rough treatment. Tharkay raised an internal eyebrow at the sudden difference. The guards escorted him across a broad cobblestone courtyard and into a building that was large for a house or small for a mansion, well-appointed despite the barred windows. They brought Tharkay to a room with a long table and the smell of food. Laurence was there, impeccably dressed but unshaven. As Tharkay entered the room, Laurence smiled at him. Tharkay opened his mouth, then closed it. “Good morning, Will,” he said.


	2. The Dangling Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Granby goes to bed, the conversation picks up.

To say that Tharkay was curious was an understatement. He had gone from spy facing execution to honored guest overnight. Laurence had said nothing of consequence. Nothing on the day-long flight from the training grounds outside Grenoble to the palace at Fontainebleau. Nothing in two days of waiting for Napoleon to return from Paris. Only a brief and likely accidental hint that he knew of the spying charge against his friend. Only a brief touch when he brushed a lingering piece of jail-cell straw from the back of Tharkay’s coat.

Napoleon arrived on the third day, greeting Laurence as “Your Imperial Highness” and kissing him on both cheeks, and twitting Granby for the way that Iskierka had schemed to marry her captain to the Incan (and now French) Empress Anahuarque. Granby said very little, but he was clearly thinking “better you than me,” especially after Anahuarque’s recent display of political maneuvering.

And then this: “Laurence,” cried Napoleon, with a grand gesture toward Tharkay, “you do not know how much you are in my debt!”

What on earth had Laurence done? Had he truly asked Napoleon to release Tharkay from the clutches of the Emperor’s spymaster Fouché? To spare his life? Tharkay found it difficult to believe that Laurence would compromise his honor so.

That evening after Granby had retired, Laurence seemed more willing to talk. Tharkay pressed him on his opinion of Napoleon’s plan to recruit the dragons of the world to his cause by giving them rights and privileges they would experience in very few other places. Laurence admitted the ideas were attractive, but he was all too familiar with Napoleon’s expediency: every act the man undertook was in the service of his own imperial grandeur, and any consequences to dragons or humans were a distant second in his mind. 

So, thought Tharkay, if Laurence has not been seduced by Napoleon, whence this apparent plea on my behalf? Tharkay was not entirely accustomed to friendship, even after knowing Laurence for several years. He was even less accustomed to a friend who would actively intervene to save his life. Tharkay had relied on none but himself for so long that he found himself almost resenting Laurence’s actions. “I hope you know,” he said, “that I would never urge you to trade on Napoleon’s gratitude.”

Laurence sighed. “If I did not make the attempt, I would have compromised my honor in a far worse manner. I believed it to be within my power to save a dear friend, and it was therefore incumbent upon me to try.” He met Tharkay’s eyes and said softly, “Sometimes I think you were alone so long that it seems easier to you to continue to believe that nobody in the world cares if you live or die.”

Tharkay stared at him. “I do thank you,” he said finally. “I don’t mean to sound churlish. And . . . perhaps you are right.”

Laurence smiled slightly, then stifled a yawn. “Perhaps,” he said. “And now I think I should retire for the night.”

“Indeed,” said Tharkay. “After all, tomorrow you may get us all killed thwarting Napoleon’s grand scheme. We should endeavor to be well-rested.”

He was half-way to a smirk when Laurence stepped toward him. “Good night, Tenzing,” he said, embracing him briefly but warmly. “I shall always be your friend.”


	3. Come On Baby, Light My Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you feel like a character in someone's idiotic romance novel. But those people get a happy ending. . .

Sometimes Tharkay felt like a character in one of those dreadfully contrived novels that rejected all realism and common sense to throw the heroine and her love interest into each other’s arms in scene after scene. In the past year, Laurence had rescued him from General Fela’s torturers, Tharkay had put on—and taken off—Laurence’s imperial robes, they had spent a week in extremely close quarters alone in the frozen Alps, and Laurence had saved Tharkay from certain death by calling in a favor from Napoleon Bonaparte, then called Tharkay a dear friend and embraced him.

And now, flying all night from Fountainebleau to the French coast, none of them dressed for it, they huddled with Granby in Iskierka’s talons, her heat scarcely penetrating the cold. Tharkay rather thought that if this string of enforced intimacies continued, he would put in a request with Fate for one with a little more privacy. Someone’s hand was in the small of his back. He told himself that it was Laurence’s hand and that it was there with intention. When he shivered, it was with more than the cold.

On their last night in Fountainebleau, he had lain awake for hours, remembering the feeling of Laurence’s arms around him, imagining half a dozen ways that the moment could have been prolonged. His mind kept returning to one in particular: tightening his arms around Laurence and brushing his lips across his stubbly cheek. If he could conjure that impossibility, he thought wryly, why not also favor himself with a Laurence who would return his affection enthusiastically, kissing him full on the mouth? Et cetera.

Too soon reality intruded on his pleasant imaginings. He had been alone most of his adult life. He was a fool even to daydream about loving this man. And if he wasn’t careful, Laurence might notice his attraction.

Yet when they landed outside Dieppe at dawn, risking a fire by an abandoned farmhouse, Tharkay allowed himself to enjoy the light of the flames against Laurence’s cheek.


	4. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurence is way naughtier than people give him credit for. But always honorable.

Laurence didn’t expect to think of Tharkay while making love with Jane. Yet one image of silky black hair flashed across his mind and he lost control. It was exceedingly ungentlemanly of him. Laurence apologized and devoted himself to Jane’s pleasure, nuzzling her breast and drawing the nipple into his mouth. As he sucked it and stroked it with his tongue, he tightened one arm around Jane and slid his free hand down to touch her bud. She held him fiercely and moaned. After scarcely a minute, she began to shiver and thrash. Laurence nipped her earlobe and licked along her jaw. By the time his lips met hers, she had reached completion. They held each other in the dark on the floor, kissing softly.

That night, Laurence slept soundly, pressed against Jane in her large and comfortable bed. He woke briefly at dawn and found his thoughts straying again to Tharkay. Laurence knew from experience that he was susceptible to Tharkay’s charms. He supposed one could call them that. His friend’s incisive observations often startled him, but having known Tharkay for years, Laurence was capable of returning the favor on occasion. Tharkay did not do inscrutable quite as well as he thought he did, at least not around Laurence. While none of this meant he had any excuse for being distracted while making love to Jane, Laurence was not entirely surprised that it had happened. 

He thought back to the days they spent together in the ice crevasse, huddled against Temeraire, passing the brandy flask at night until they fell asleep. Once he awoke to find Tharkay sleeping curled around him, his erection pressed against Laurence’s buttocks. Or perhaps it was one of his longer knives in its leather sheath. Laurence supposed it was not the Done Thing to reach around for confirmation. 

The next afternoon, Jane and Excidium returned to the Peninsular War, and Laurence was plunged into preparations for leading the British aerial forces against Napoleon in Prussia, and, he hoped, beyond. The brainstorming session during the first half of his evening with Jane now served him well as he planned around resentful captains and thieving suppliers. And the vital force restored by the second part of that evening also stood him in good stead.

The night before their departure for Prussia, he dined with Tharkay, a simple meal of beef and barley soup with potatoes and carrots. Tharkay poked at the contents of his bowl. “Looking for the squirrel, Tenzing?” Laurence said with a straight face. “I wanted to honor your resourcefulness when we holed up in France at that abandoned farmhouse and fed a ravenous newborn dragon on whatever we could find. Granby finding that barley in the kitchen cabinets was all very well, but you found a damned vegetable garden and killed a squirrel with a rock.” “Simple self-preservation,” said Tharkay. “Ning was born opportunistic as well as hungry and I had no desire to test the bounds of her common sense.” He dug into the soup, smiling slightly. Laurence had a few bites, then watched his friend eat. Watched his lips slide over the bowl of the spoon. He had found over the years, with Tharkay and others, that if a person had no reason to suspect that Laurence was enjoying the view as he made polite conversation, he or she would likely not notice. Perhaps we see better when we know what we’re looking at, he thought. 

Too soon it was time to part. Tharkay had hinted at unfinished business. For all Laurence knew, he’d manage a trip to update Avram Maden in Istanbul before Laurence could return. If he returned. He would face danger from multiple fronts. But he was resolute and even eager. Perhaps it was that eagerness that led him to embrace Tharkay as he did.

Standing up from the table, Laurence walked Tharkay to the door. Tharkay extended his hand. “Pray give Napoleon my regards,” he said. Laurence took his hand and pulled him into a rough embrace. He held Tharkay a moment longer than was entirely proper, then relaxed his grip and brushed his lips across his friend’s cheek. Tharkay sighed as though all breath was leaving his body. “Will,” he said. “Will.”


	5. Don’t Have to Live Like a Refugee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tharkay goes to court, armed only with an eyebrow.

One thought kept Tharkay’s sanity intact as he endured the court proceedings that would either establish him as his father’s rightful heir or drive him back into exile: Will Laurence had kissed him. Of course, Laurence’s actions on the night before he left for the war were themselves challenging Tharkay’s mental health in an entirely different way. Laurence had changed so much over the years, especially since he recovered his lost memories in China. Tharkay could no longer assume that he would never want anything more than friendship. But what exactly did Laurence want? Tharkay regretted that they hadn’t had time to talk. Why would Will kiss him only on the cusp of parting? Part of him feared that Laurence wasn’t interested in talking. Perhaps the tremendous pressure of leading the British aerial forces against Napoleon had made him rash. What if Will only wanted him for sexual release? Tharkay thought that would break his heart.

This river of emotions rolled through his mind in the courtroom while his expression remained one of polite interest. Even Cousin Ambrose, a minor government functionary who had likely sold his name to the French, only received a raised eyebrow when he entered the room. The look on Ambrose’s face, however, was priceless—as though he feared Tharkay would pin him to the wall with a throwing knife at any moment. An eyebrow, Tharkay had found, impaled a coward just as neatly without the fuss of criminal charges.

At moments like this, what Tharkay thought of as his sunnier nature asserted itself and he imagined reclaiming his patrimony and inviting Laurence to live with him on his estate. After so many years of being Laurence’s disreputable companion, it would be quite satisfying to level the social playing field between them—while remaining entirely indispensable, of course. 

The news of the war was good, for what that was worth. The armies allied against Napoleon had retaken Berlin. Tharkay would never count Napoleon out, however: the man was a strategic genius who had become even more deadly by allying himself with Lien and the Incan Empire. Though Tharkay worried about Laurence, he knew that given his friend’s prominent position, if anything happened to Will, he would hear of it. During their long separation while Laurence was exiled to New South Wales and Tharkay returned to his work in Europe and Asia, he had tormented himself with thoughts of never learning Will’s fate. Perhaps it was better that he hadn’t heard of Laurence fighting in South America and being lost off the coast of Japan until after they were reunited in China.


	6. I Won't Back Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Laurence's battle-tested relaxation techniques.

Laurence was tired. Tired of Poole and Windle’s barely disguised insubordination. Tired of explaining to Granby and Roland why he had to put up with the other captains’ behavior. Tired of wringing every advantage he could from the motley assortment of allies, only to have Napoleon counter brilliantly. Dresden had been a near disaster. If Poole’s dragon Fidelitas had not disobeyed a direct order from his captain, the allied strike force might well have been overwhelmed. A dragon disobeying his captain. It was hardly to be imagined, but the same could be said for a captain ordering his dragon to abandon the battlefield and seek plunder among the enemy’s baggage-carts, as Poole had done outside Berlin.

For a tired man, Laurence had a devil of a time sleeping. He had found that the only way he could rest for a few hours was to turn his thoughts to Tharkay, which was comforting but brought its own baggage-train of ideas he had once considered unthinkable. No more. Laurence found himself giving less and less consideration to propriety with every year that passed. He regretted taking matters with Tharkay a step further only because it seemed unfair and perhaps even unkind to do so just before he flew off across Europe to war.

Laurence was for once glad not to have Tharkay at his side, where a stray bullet could easily end his life. As skilled and resourceful as the man was, Tharkay was not a trained soldier and his ties to Britain were no simple matter of loyalty or national pride. “I will speak honestly with him if—when—I return,” thought Laurence. “I owe him that.” He scarcely had words for his feelings, but he knew he must find them. And Jane. He would have to talk to Jane. He truly did not know what he would say. Jane and Wellesley were fully engaged in Spain, pushing the French back over the border even as Laurence and his allies drove at them from the other side. Thoughts of Jane were thoughts of war. Although he had no lack of memories of Tharkay skewering opponents beside him, thoughts of him were somehow more peaceful.

In his dreams, they did not part after Laurence caressed Tharkay’s cheek with his lips. He dreamed that Tharkay was kissing him while Laurence ran his hands over his muscular frame and tugged at his clothing. He dreamed that he was naked and hard before Tharkay, who licked his lips and smiled. One morning he woke with a start, having dreamed that Tharkay spent that last night in Laurence’s rooms and they overslept, only to find Captain Windle banging on the outer door, calling him a traitor and a Sodomite. Laurence didn’t find that ending especially distressing: he could think of worse outcomes than giving Windle an apoplectic fit. Sometimes his dreams took place in a secluded fountain in Istanbul or in a canvas tent in New South Wales. On the Allegiance, he dreamed, they were tangled in the hammock in Tharkay’s quarters, rubbing their hips together. On waking, Laurence rather thought that in such vigorous circumstances they would have fallen out of the hammock, but he had no complaints regarding the vividness or the accuracy of his dreams.


	7. We Don’t Need Another Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tharkay travels in style to Paris after Laurence and Temeraire apparently win the war singlehandedly.

Not more than a day after Tharkay left the courts victorious, rumors of Napoleon’s defeat near Dresden began to flood into Britain. Napoleon was dead. Napoleon had surrendered. Napoleon had been captured by Admiral Laurence. The British flag dragon Temeraire had defeated Lien in single combat. 

With a glance in the glass, Tharkay adjusted his neckcloth. He smirked at his own almost unrecognizable reflection, fashionably short hair and all, and reached for his walking-stick. A letter had come from Laurence, inviting him to Paris. Napoleon’s young son Joseph had been named Emperor of France, with his mother, the Empress Anahuarque, as Regent. Once Tharkay would have declined such an invitation, if he ever should have received one in the first place. But he was not who he once was, and the man he was now very much wanted to see Laurence.

As his carriage travelled toward the covert where he would catch a ride to Paris, Tharkay mulled over the reports of Laurence and Temeraire’s heroism. He wasn’t sure he believed them. Not that they were not both brave (and Temeraire even rash at times), but the logistics seemed impossible. How would they have managed to isolate Napoleon from the dozens of dragons who were fighting alongside his troops and protecting him? Something must have been omitted from the official accounts. Tharkay thought of Talleyrand meeting with Anahuarque in Fountainebleau while Napoleon was detained in Paris. Yet he knew that Laurence would strongly resist false reports of valor being attached to his name. He was intrigued. But to be honest, very different thoughts of Laurence intrigued him as well. 

Captain Hollin and Elsie met him at Calais, where they were ferrying dignitaries to the capital. Tharkay stifled a laugh at the thought of himself as an honored guest in Paris, as opposed to, say, a captured spy facing execution by guillotine or hanging. He thought he would prefer the blade to the noose, not that Fouché would have asked his opinion. Hollin touched his cap and thanked Tharkay for his service during the invasion of Britain. “And yours as well,” Tharkay replied genially.

Paris in springtime was beautiful. The inhabitants seemed both disappointed by the end of their imperial expansion and relieved that the grinding destruction of war had not come to their city. As the sun set, Tharkay reached the Tuileries and caught sight of Laurence at Temeraire’s side in the plaza before the palace. As Laurence turned, Tharkay raised his hand and began to walk faster.


	8. I’ll Stop the World and Melt with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climactic conclusion.

Laurence’s rooms were not far from the Tuileries, which was fortunate, as Tharkay was not at all certain that he could keep his hands off Laurence for very much longer. The way Laurence had winked at him when they shook hands! And Temeraire’s knowing look! Tharkay had to consciously blank his mind to prevent his knees from buckling with desire in the street.

Once the door was closed and locked, neither of them hesitated. Unless one counts looking greedily at each other for a bare instant before they embraced. Laurence slid his hand up to Tharkay’s hair and sighed, clutching him tightly. “Tenzing,” he whispered. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You need never ask,” he panted.

“It is only, “said Laurence, “that I wish I had not surprised you so the night we parted. I was . . . not thinking clearly. I am sorry.”

“Well,” said Tharkay, nibbling his way up Laurence’s neck toward his lips, “as long as you do not stop now, all is forgiven.”

There was rather less talking after that. Every moment brought fresh discoveries of places to kiss and the pleasures of being kissed there, in that exact spot. Yes. Lawrence freed his hand from Tharkay’s hair and slid it down his back, grunting as they pressed their hips together harder.

“Will, have you . . . have you done this before?”

“Er, no, only with Jane,” he said.

Tharkay was sure that Laurence was blushing. “It is of no consequence,” he said, “Truly, I can claim only a little more experience in these matters. But I do believe we should move to your bedchamber before I ravish you here on the floor, boots and all.”

Somehow the dreadful impediments were removed. Boots and coats and neckcloths. Waistcoats and trousers. Tharkay poked his head under Lawrence’s loosened shirt and licked up his stomach to his nipples. He blew softly on one and stroked the other, and Laurence shivered, every muscle in his body tensing at once.

Tharkay pulled his head out of the shirt and smiled softly at Laurence, who whipped his shirt off and grabbed Tharkay, rolling them both onto their sides. Laurence slipped a hand between them, where their cocks were touching. Well, more than touching. Just as his heart was more than racing, and Tharkay’s tongue was more than slipping into his mouth. Every movement of Laurence’s fingers sparked the ecstasy of touching and being touched. He shifted so that he could slide his hand fully around their cocks and Tharkay gasped into his mouth.

“I don’t suppose you learned _that_ from Jane,” he whispered.

“Thought of it all on my own,” smirked Laurence, stroking them a little faster.

“In your copious spare time, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” said Laurence, but it turned into a groan. He was so close. Then Tharkay shuddered in his arms. Laurence felt the warm and viscous cum on his fingers. That was all it took for him to tip over the edge as well. Laurence felt as though he were exploding in the gentlest way possible.

“Mmmhhmmgggg, Will,” said Tharkay, articulate as ever.

“Mmmhhmmgggg,” murmured Laurence, understanding exactly what he meant.

***

They woke perhaps an hour later, the room in full darkness. Tharkay nuzzled Laurence’s shoulder and scooted closer. Laurence got a hand on Tharkay’s arse and squeezed.

“I was going to ask whether you wished to do this again,” said Tharkay, “but I believe you have answered that question to my satisfaction.”

Laurence grinned against his cheek. “Again now or again in general? That is, yes to both. Anything less would be unconscionable.”

“Britain’s most honorable man, indeed,” smirked Tharkay, stroking Laurence’s back lightly.

“Speaking of which. . .” said Laurence, once he had finished shivering. “Don’t you want to ask me about Admiral Roland? I hope you don’t think I forgot her in my all-encompassing desire for, er, you.”

“It seemed . . . a distinct possibility . . . earlier this evening . . . but as I recall . . . she is rather . . . unforgettable.” It took Tharkay nearly a minute to complete his sentence as Laurence was nibbling his ear while doing something intriguing a little further down.

“Yes, well, she and I spoke yesterday and, well, er, Wellesley. Comrades in arms and all that. I got out about three words regarding, ah, you, and she started laughing and told me everything. Er, at least, more than I wanted to know about campaigning and . . . advances.”

“I see,” said Tharkay. “And now you wish to be consoled, or something.”

“I believe,” he said, rolling on top of Laurence, “that I can assist you with that.” Tharkay had intended to savor some slow and gentle kisses, but he would have to attempt that feat another time—Laurence was stirring him again. Tharkay pressed himself against his lover and made a deep, pleased sound between a purr and a moan.

Laurence tightened his grip and licked his way into Tharkay’s mouth. Every brush of their tongues was intoxicating. He slid his hand back down and stroked the cleft of Tharkay’s arse. Tharkay shifted slightly to allow Laurence better access, moaning as his fingers reached the sensitive area around his hole.

“Will,” Tharkay ground out, “I want to take you in my mouth, if I may, but—God!—I don’t want you to stop.”

“Turn around,” Laurence said. “We can do both.” Tharkay smiled and shifted around so that he was draped across Laurence with his head between his legs. “Will, you are a master of strategy.”

“Napoleon said the same,” smirked Laurence. “Though he paid his compliments to your prowess as well.”

Tharkay huffed, then licked and nibbled along the inside of Laurence’s thigh as though it were the most interesting part of him within reach. It was not a façade he could maintain for long, not with Laurence’s warm, firm cock bobbing by his ear. He gave up with pleasure and swallowed him down.

Laurence let out a breath that was halfway to a shout but didn’t break contact with Tharkay’s arse for more than a moment. He licked his free hand and used the moisture to work a fingertip inside. It was hot and tight. Tharkay groaned and took him farther into his mouth.

“Tenzing, I’m close,” gasped Laurence, his hands moving more erratically, his body tensing. Tharkay pulled back a bit but kept sucking Laurence’s cock until he came, muffling a cry with his own forearm. Tharkay coughed and swallowed, turning to lie down and pressing close to Laurence, who held him while riding the slow waves of orgasm.

“May I try that?” said Laurence, when he could think again.

“Please, yes, do,” said Tharkay, who was hard and hot from his lover’s touch.

Laurence knelt between his legs and pushed them apart gently, taking the head of Tharkay’s cock into his mouth. “Is this good?” he asked.

“Ah, yes!” said Tharkay. “As much as you can take into your mouth and—Oh!—some pressure is really . . . Unkgh.”

Laurence was a quick study.

***

“Will,” said Tharkay, much later, “I should like to invite you and Temeraire to live with me.”

“On your estates in the Peaks?”

“Yes, it’s not too far from Nottinghamshire, so you could easily visit your family, and Temeraire could stand for election to Parliament if he wishes to. They’ve set aside twenty seats for dragons—perhaps you have heard?”

“I have,” said Laurence. “Let me speak with Temeraire. He was thrilled to hear your news—you know he is quite fond of you.”

“And I of him. I find that I can no longer live in my old ways that sent me traveling so far afield. I do not wish to be parted from you again, Will.”

“Nor I from you,” Laurence said softly.

**Epilogue at Wollaton Hall: The Spy Who Loves Me**

They sat together on a low stone wall with Temeraire coiled before them, watching the sunset.

“Napoleon was right, you know,” said Laurence.

Tharkay raised an eyebrow.

“When he called you the infamous gentleman. That was . . . exactly right.”

Tharkay wrapped his arm around Laurence’s shoulder. Temeraire leaned in as well and Laurence smiled.

_He laid his hand on Temeraire’s muzzle and looked north and west, towards the curve of the ocean, towards home._

**Playlist and Acknowledgments**

This is my first fic. I really enjoyed rereading _League of Dragons_ closely and weaving my own writing around it. Heartfelt thanks to the writers who have inspired and encouraged me, especially

CMOTScribbler, author of “One for the Corps” & “Roots and Wings”

Lightlost713, author of “We'll Whisper Until We Can Shout”

and the Temeraire group on Discord

Here are the sources of the chapter titles:

“Jailhouse Rock,” Elvis Presley

“The Dangling Conversation,” Simon & Garfunkel

“Come On Baby, Light My Fire,” The Doors

“Relax,” Frankie Goes to Hollywood

“Don’t Have to Live Like a Refugee,” Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers (actual title “Refugee”)

“I Won’t Back Down,” Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

“We Don’t Need Another Hero,” Tina Turner

“I’ll Stop the World and Melt with You,” Modern English

“The Spy Who Loved Me,” Carly Simon (actual title “Nobody Does It Better”)


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